to that of the Willie company, except that they had not lost their beef cattle. During the afternoon of the 19th they arrived at the last crossing of North Platte, and rested for a short time, as they had been drawing their carts through heavy sand all day. The river at this point was wide, the current strong, the water deep, and the bottom covered with rocks. The weather was threatening, and a piercing wind was blowing from the north. After a late dinner, they crossed over, and before they had fairly reached the other side, the storm that had overtaken the Willie company at the Three Crossings of the Sweetwater broke over them in all its fury, the result of which was terrible.

(TO BE CONTINUED)

Why I Am

The aim of my existence is that I may have more joy
Than sorrow, in the sum of life,-build more than I destroy;
That I may seek and find the truth, and in the search be glad;
Be much more moved by love of good than by the fear of bad;

To freedom gain, and ne'er forget that others, too, have rightsThat mine "turn in" where theirs begin, no matter what's my might;

To keep proportioned, and to grow in head, and hand, and heart-
To put in practice what I know to be the better part;

To let the spirit have its share of culture every hour,
And keep the passions in the place of servants to will-power;
To be submissive to the will of those I should obey,
Yet be a gallant leader, still, of others-on my way;
Outgrow the power to love a lie, or any other wrong,
By sacrificing for the Truth and helping Right along;
To be effect, and then be cause, of light, and love, and life;
To learn, obey, and then make laws,-enjoy eternal life;

To go the road that God has gone, who once was mortal man
Of perfect type; if I am such a one, become a God I can.
And why not?-if man is His child, and a brother to His Son,
The Man-God, Jesus, who on earth showed how the race was won,

And says to me: "Be ye like Me, do ye as I have done,

Be one with Me, as I and He, My Father, God, are one?"
If God had not intended that I Divine might be,
Why, then, confer the image of Divinity on me?

Thus making my appearance clear a necessary fraud,
A being in His likeness here that never can be God?
GEORGE H. BRIMHALL.

PROVO, UTAH

A Question of Conversion

BY D. W. CUMMINGS

Jean Lemaire had suspected for some time that the visits of a certain American at the Rochelle home in the outskirts of Bordeaux were becoming significantly frequent and regular, and he was discussing the matter with Marie Rochelle rather warmly. "How long has he been coming here--this American?" "About once a week, for the past three or four months." Lemaire scowled. Marie, seeing the scowl, was displeased. "Why do you frown that way?" she demanded, sharply. "Because I don't like what you tell me that this man comes here so often. And that, because I don't like him."

"Why not?"

He flushed, and then replied hesitantly, as one who is confessing a weakness:

"Because-because I don't understand him."

"You mean?”

"I am a thinker. I let my reason govern me in everything, in so far as a human being can, uninfluenced by my emotions. I have read this man's tracts and find them-trash. And yet." scowling still deeper, "I don't throw them away. And I am drawn to listen to him, not because my reason justifies me, but because— because of his personality, I suppose. I don't understand it!”

She listened to him intently, as though comparing his with some past thoughts of her own, and finding them similar. Presently she said:

"Perhaps it isn't his personality."

"What might it be, then?" he asked, curiously.

"The Spirit of God," she replied, calmly.

"Bah!"

"I don't say it is," she returned, "I merely say it might be. Have you discussed his tracts with him?"

"No!" he scornfully replied.

"You don't think them-worth while?"

"No, because there is so little in them that is new. His is evidently one of those ritualistic and materialistic religions, with a fixed creed and prescribed ordinances. They are as old as Christendom itself, and are all fundamentally alike."

"I did not see much in his tracts, either-till he began to explain them. And then-"

"You don't men to say that you are seriously considering this

man's doctrines?" he demanded in amazement, and with some heat.

"Yes!"

He jumped to his feet in a fury, but she stopped him with a gesture.

"Listen! I know your attitude toward religion, for it has often hurt me. You, with your Free Thought, have always merely tolerated my being a Catholic. But I loved my religion. It gave me hope and courage. I found it beautiful-oh, so beautiful!" she added, wistfully. "Our splendid churches, the mystery and grandeur of the mass, the loving trustfulness of our belief in the Virgin, the consolation of the confession, all, it was all so beautiful, and I loved it.

His face told me that I could.

"Then this man came along. trust him, and I did. He began to discuss religion with me. I consented, for I had no fear that he could shake my faith, and I was curious. But I never realized for a moment what it was going to lead to. If I had I-I don't believe I would have had courage to undertake it!"

"To what has it led?" he asked, tensely.

In her eyes was a great fear, as she replied in a low voice: "To reasoning for myself upon religion. I have actually begun to wonder whether, after all, Catholicism be true!"

"This has gone too far! As you say, I have and will tolerate your being a Catholic, but to consider seriously this other religion is absurd! You don't know what you are getting into!"

"How are you going to stop it?" she asked, in a strangely hopeless tone.

"You are too rational to reject the thing, now that it has interested you so much, unless it be proved false to you. That is what I propose to do!"

Just then the door-bell rang. At the sound, Marie's eyes gleamed with excitement. She hurried toward the door, whispering swiftly to Jean as she passed him:

"You have your chance, this is he!"

As she opened the door, a rather tall young man, evidently an American by his clean-shaved, eager features, and the cut of his clothes, entered briskly, chatting in rapid though incorrect French while taking off his overcoat. He turned to greet Jean, but seeing the queer look on his face, hesitated, smiling broadly. Presently he inquired:

"Why on earth are you looking at me that way, M. Lemaire?"

"Because-because-"stammered Jean.

"Because he was talking about you, M. Faber, just as you rang," said Marie, with a flash of mischief.

The laugh that followed relieved the situation, and the ordinary small talk began. Finally, Faber turned toward Lemaire and inquired:

"Just what were you saying, M. Lemaire, as I entered?"

"I was saying to madamoiselle that, while I found you very interesting personally, I thought your tracts rather-shall I say, ineffective?"

The American, quite undisturbed either by the compliment or the criticism, smiled.

"You found our religion somewhat materialistic, with a primitive insistance upon ritual and ordinances, did you not?" he asked, easily.

The other two gasped.

"Oh, you needn't be surprised. I am so familiar with Free Thought arguments against our religion, that I can nearly always anticipate them. In fact, they and the Catholic arguments are practically all we have to meet here in France."

"You seem to fare pretty well with the Catholics—those that are not qualified to defend their faith," observed Lemaire, with a touch of sarcasm.

"My dear M. Lemaire, I would discuss religion with the Pope himself if I thought it would accomplish anything. I have even now an appointment here with Pere Lebrun, Marie's confessor." "Pere Lebrun coming here!" exclaimed Jean, turning amazed eyes of inquiry upon Marie.

"Yes," said she, quietly. "M. Faber has consented to let me ask him certain questions before Pere Lebrun, and hear the explanation of both. That is Pere Lebrun now."

At the sound of the bell the two men looked expectantly at the door. Marie opened it quickly, and admitted her confessor.

He was a man past middle age, garbed in the conventional black robe and low-crowned, broad-brimmed hat of the French cure. His face was large, kindly and highly intellectual, his bearing dignified, almost to stateliness. He had the ruminative eyes of the scholar, saddened, evidently, by suffering. And yet they were strong eyes, that told you there lay behind them a strong mind. They were the eyes of a deep thinker, precise and firm in his convictions, yet tolerant of those which opposed them. They reflected, too, a profound piety, that was in no wise bigoted, and that had not changed one whit a natural kindliness and good humor. It was not at all surprising that Marie should greet him with glad affection.

"Nous voici, mon pere!" she cried. And then she added, with a noticeable constraint: "We're waiting for you."

He looked about him in surprise.

"You did not tell me there would be others."

"No, because-because I was a little, little bit afraid you would not come, if I did. Brt I, too, have had a surprise. I did not expect Jean. Although he is welcome," she added graciously.

At her words the priest looked at Lemaire steadily. Just as steadily, the free-thinker returned his look. In their eyes was a subtle antagonism that both seemed to regret, and yet that neither could suppress. Suddenly, as though by a common impulse, they turned their gaze searchingly upon the American.

For a moment no one spoke. In the silence, the two old antagonists were estimating the new and common foe!

"What a situation!" muttered Jean, admiringly, the Frenchman's love of the dramatic finally prevailing.

His words snapped the tension, and the three hastily shifted their gaze. But in that moment something had happened!

There had been a psychic clash, significant of itself and grimly portentous of another and a greater conflict. Rome, Free Thought and "Mormonism" confronted one another in that little room, battling for the soul of that girl, just as in a few years in France, they will be fighting for the dominance of her people!

Yet the situation was strangely free of personal hostility. It was as if these three men, big-minded men all of them, realized that their present struggle was not one of individuals but of principles; as if, too, the vaster portent of their immediate conflict weighed upon them, and rendered them sternly scrupulous. "Good-day, messieurs," said the kindly old priest. "This is a remarkable coincidence, but, nevertheless, a pleasure."

The others murmured a courteous greeting, and then there succeeded a pause. It was broken by the priest, who said, with

a touch of whimsical bluntness:

"It is not difficult to surmise what is the subject of our thoughts, n'est-ce pas?"

The others started slightly, and there was a quick exchange of glances. Then Pere Lebrun composedly resumed, addressing Marie:

"It was to discuss with M. Faber that you asked me here today, is it not so?"

"Oui, mon pere."

The priest stood a moment, thinking deeply. Then he shook his head negatively two or three times, as he said to Marie:

"You meant well, mon enfant, but you have made a mistake. I will exhort you, explain to you, counsel you, but I will not argue with you, or for you."

"But mon pere-" began Marie, pleadingly.

"Non, mon enfant," he stopped her, with gentle firmness, "I have been through all that, and I know. Religious discussion is a turmoil out of which nothing ever comes, and in which many a